You Never Forget
by dS-Tiff
Summary: Fraser and RayK need help from Mort when faced with a difficult murder investigation, but Mort is facing a crisis of confidence and he needs their support to deal with his own troubles.
1. Chapter 1

_This is set sometime during the middle of Season 4. I should probably point out that I know nothing about medical research, so I apologise for any inaccuracies in that area. I hope you enjoy it - please submit a review, good or bad! Thank you kindly._

**YOU NEVER FORGET**

**Chapter 1**

"Welcome to Canada!" Constable Benton Fraser smiled as he heard Constable Turnbull's familiar greeting to visitors at the Canadian Consulate. Then he heard Turnbull's hurried footsteps along the hall and a knock at his door. Diefenbaker, Fraser's lupine companion leapt up and barked.

"Come in Turnbull," Fraser called out.

"Sir," began Turnbull, "Detective Vecchio is here to see you."

Fraser was a little taken aback. It was only a little after eight thirty in the morning and although he himself had been up for hours, it was rather early in the morning for a visit from his best friend and partner from the Chicago Police Department, Ray Kowalski, known to all at the present time as Ray Vecchio due to the current undercover assignment. "Thank you Turnbull," he said, replacing the lid on his pen and getting to his feet.

"I'll make myself scarce," said Turnbull, "I assume you have important liaising work to discuss," and he hurried out of Fraser's office.

Fraser chuckled as he headed towards the door. Turnbull was just a little jealous of his role with the local police department. "Good morning Ray!" he beamed, but his smile quickly faded as he saw Ray stood in the hallway, staring at the floor. "Ah," said Fraser, quietly so Turnbull wouldn't hear, "I had a feeling something was amiss as you are here so early."

Ray looked up at him. "Can't keep anything from ya, can I?" he said with half a smile. He sniffed and headed into the reception room with a worried Fraser following behind. Ray slumped down onto the leather sofa and sighed.

Fraser waited a moment for his partner to start talking, but Ray was silent. "What's wrong?" Fraser prompted eventually.

Ray looked up at him. "Sorry buddy," he said quietly, "tough start to the day, er, that's all."

"Are you alright?" Fraser asked gently, still concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," replied Ray, which was clearly not true, "just had to do the whole 'sorry for your loss' and 'we'll do everything we can to catch the killer of your sister' routine. Not the er, not the most fun I've ever had before breakfast." Ray sighed again and rubbed Dief behind the ears.

"Ah," nodded Fraser, understandingly. "Who's the victim?"

"Anna Cortez," replied Ray. "She's got an older brother and a younger sister. I got to break the news to the sister." Ray sighed again and pretended he had an itch suddenly, trying to hide the tear that had sneaked out of his eye.

Of course he could never hide something like that from Fraser and his partner put a steadying hand on Ray's shoulder. "If you don't mind me saying," began Fraser, cautiously, "you've had to perform this unpleasant duty on many occasions in the past, what is it about this case that has distressed you so much?"

"Distressed?" replied Ray, with sad eyes, "do I look, er, distressed?"

"A little," replied Fraser, honestly.

Ray shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "The family...her sister's got a husband and a kid...they just seemed so..." he paused, searching for the right word, "so nice, I guess?"

"Ah," said Fraser again. "What were the circumstances?"

Ray sniffed. "Her body was found on the, er, the stairwell of her apartment buildin', early hours of this mornin'. Looked like she'd been robbed, but it was no robbery."

"Are you sure?" asked Fraser.

"Course," replied Ray with half a grin, "been doin' this job too long buddy. The, er, the robbery was staged, but I can't say what killed her. She wasn't shot or stabbed or nothin'? Mort's got her now, so I, er, I guess we'll know more later."

"I see," nodded Fraser. "Would you like some tea?"

"Coffee, Fraser, it's not even nine in the morning, I need coffee," admitted Ray with a wry smile.

"Right you are," Fraser stood up to go and make Ray's coffee, but as he did so he almost bumped into Turnbull who had appeared carrying a tray of cups.

"I'm terribly sorry Sir," Turnbull apologised, "but I took the liberty of making some coffee for Detective Vecchio and bark tea for you."

Fraser smiled at his colleague. Turnbull wasn't quite as much of an idiot as he sometimes appeared to be. "Thank you kindly Constable Turnbull." Turnbull placed the two cups on the table and left the room.

Ray reached into his pocket and produced a handful of brightly coloured chocolates and threw them into his cup. Fraser refrained from making a comment about the health implications, considering Ray's current low mood.

The two friends talked some more, finished their drinks and then headed back to the station. Fraser was pleased to see that talking about the case had lifted Ray's spirits slightly and he now seemed to be channelling his energies into finding whoever killed Anna Cortez. "Was Miss Cortez involved in a romantic relationship?" enquired Fraser, as they waited at traffic lights.

"Nope," replied Ray, "her sister said she had a boyfriend about two years ago, but nothin', y'know, nothin' serious since then."

"I know you said her sister had a family," began Fraser, "but what about the older brother?"

"He's not married," replied Ray as he drove along. "He and Anna worked at the same place, that research lab on the other side of town." Fraser nodded, he knew the place. They'd used their laboratory services on many occasions during investigations.

"Her kid sister was distraught Fraser," sighed Ray, shaking his head. "This job sucks sometimes." Fraser nodded, he couldn't help but agree.

XxX

Fraser and Ray headed straight down to the morgue. Mort had only had the body for just over an hour and a half, but that should have been plenty of time for a initial report, thought Fraser. "Good morning Mort," smiled Fraser as they walked in. Ray followed his partner in gingerly, expecting to see Mort working on the body of Anna Cortez, but he relaxed slightly when he saw the body on the examination table was covered with a sheet. Then he noticed Mort, sat quietly in a chair in the corner with his glasses hanging loosely around his neck. Ray glanced over at Fraser, that wasn't like the usually jolly mortician at all? They were both instantly concerned.

"Mort?" said Fraser, gently, "are you alright?"

Mort lifted his head and placed his glasses back on the end of his nose. "I'm so sorry Constable," he replied, his accent as heavy as ever, "I didn't see you there." He looked at Ray, "I expect you're here about..." his voice trailed off and he nodded towards the victim.

"Yeah," replied Ray, still worried about Mort. "D'ya have a cause of death for me yet?"

"The results of my preliminary examination are over there," replied Mort, pointing to a file on the side. Ray picked it up and started scanning down the handwritten words. "I'm afraid there's not much to read," sighed Mort, "cause of death remains unknown. I'm going to have to go in."

"Ah," said Fraser, but he was still puzzled by Mort's demeanour. The prospect of performing a full autopsy was undoubtedly not a pleasant one, but one that Mort had faced on many occasions in the past nevertheless and faced with the utmost professionalism. Ray handed his partner the file and Fraser sat in the other chair and had a quick look at the results. "Hmmm..." he pondered, "no obvious injuries, do you think there's a possibility that her death was by natural causes?"

"Then why fake a robbery?" Ray jumped in, before Mort had a chance to reply.

"Good point Ray," acknowledged Fraser, handing the file back to him. He regarded Mort for a minute. He'd never seen him like this and it concerned him greatly. He didn't want to push the older man, if Mort didn't want to talk then Fraser would of course respect that, but he decided to try one more time. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

Mort looked at him and smiled, half heartedly. "I'm just getting old, that's all."

"No Mort"" exclaimed Fraser, "you're not old in the least."

"What did ya say that for?" Ray asked Mort, incredulously.

Mort looked from Ray to Fraser and then held both of his hands out in front of him. The two younger men were slightly startled to see them trembling. "Been like this all week," explained Mort.

"Mort," began Fraser, "you know there could be any number of possible causes, very few of which are related to your age. Have you seen a doctor?"

"Fraser, I am a doctor," replied Mort. Hearing Mort say that surprised Ray a little. Of course he knew Mort was a doctor, but he didn't really think of him as one. Ray struggled with the concept of what Mort did for a living. He understood that it was vital work and without it there would be many unsolved murder cases on his desk, but it still freaked him out.

Fraser sighed at Mort's obstinacy. "And I believe it is a well known fact that doctors make the worst patients," he said. He reached out towards the older man, but then hesitated for a moment. "May I?" he asked.

Mort shrugged. "Why not?" he replied, quietly.

Ray watched as Fraser took Mort's pulse, looked into his eyes and performed a few other basics checks, many of which Ray had never seen any actual doctor do in quite the same way. He assumed that they'd found their own ways of doing these things in the middle of nowhere, when they were miles from a doctor, like so many of the other strange things that Fraser did.

"You're a little dehydrated," said Fraser.

"I'll get ya some water," offered Ray, going to find a glass from the cupboard and filling it from the cold tap.

"You also appear to be slightly anaemic, but of course you already knew that" continued Fraser, speaking quieter now, feeling that Mort may feel more comfortable if this personal information wasn't immediately shared with Ray, "and I believe that your blood sugar may be low. Are you eating?"

"Yes," replied Mort, abruptly as Ray walked back to where they were sitting. He took the glass from Ray and sipped at the water.

"Properly?" added Fraser.

"Don't patronise me Fraser," Mort reprimanded.

Fraser instantly felt guilty and looked away. The last thing he'd wanted to do was to show any disrespect to Mort. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"It's alright Fraser," reassured Mort, his voice softer now, "I appreciate your concern." Fraser nodded in acknowledgement. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have work to do." Mort finished the rest of his water in one gulp and got to his feet.

"Hey ya know ya don't have to ask me twice to get outta here," grinned Ray, "I gotta make some calls anyway. Friends and colleagues of the, er, the victim. Her sister gave me some numbers." Ray headed towards the door.

"Mort, if you like I could stay and assist you?" Fraser offered, gingerly. He didn't want to insult Mort any further by suggesting he couldn't do the job on his own, he genuinely did just want to help if he could and he was still concerned about him.

Fortunately, Mort seemed to understand. "Thank you Fraser," he said, smiling. "I would appreciate that very much."

"I'm gone," called Ray, rushing out of the morgue, "see ya later buddy."

Fraser coated his lower lip with his tongue as he watched Mort busy himself preparing his equipment, humming under his breath as he did so. Fraser was relieved to observe that he seemed a little more steady in himself now. Eventually they were ready to begin and Mort pulled back the sheet to reveal the victim's head and shoulders, but then he suddenly pulled the sheet back up and turned away. "Mort, what's wrong?" asked Fraser, slightly shocked at the reaction.

"Please give me a minute," responded Mort, quietly, without turning round. Fraser pulled off his gloves and walked around to the other side of the examination table. Without saying anything, he led Mort by the shoulders and sat him back down in the chair, seating himself in the other chair.

"Perhaps I should ask Ray to drive you home," Fraser suggested, gently.

"No," Mort replied with determination. "I'm fine."

"Mort, you're not fine," said Fraser, firmly, "I'd like to help, but I can't if you don't tell me the truth." He paused, before going on. He admired Mort immensely and he wanted to offer him the proper respect. He spoke more softly now. "This isn't just about your health, or getting old, is it? Not really?"

Mort lifted his head and looked directly at Fraser. "I forget how difficult it is to keep things from you," he sighed. He took a deep breath and began to talk. "Our victim bears an uncanny resemblance to the victim in one of my very first cases," he said. "Mary O'Driscoll was was killed by an acute subdural haematoma caused by a single blow to the head. The circumstances were entirely different, but I'm afraid I let that situation affect me, personally, I mean."

"How exactly?" coaxed Fraser.

"They never found her killer," replied Mort, solemnly. He paused for a moment to reflect. Then he spoke again with a lighter tone. "You may have noticed that I very rarely venture out of the morgue," he said. "I had a young intern once a few years ago, he used to call me Dracula," Mort emphasised the word 'Dracula' by rolling the letter 'r' on his tongue and he laughed, "I suppose it was my accent, but he used to say that he never saw me in daylight."

Fraser smiled. "I thought Dracula was meant to be from Romania?" he queried, "your accent is not even close."

Mort laughed again. "These are Americans we're dealing with, remember, they think Australians are from Scotland and anyone from eastern Europe is Russian!"

"Ah," agreed Fraser.

"I am more comfortable here with the company of the dead, I know that may sound morbid," Mort shrugged. "Back then it was different. I'd just completed the autopsy of Miss O'Driscoll and I went up to the squad room to speak to the Lieutenant about it. I remember walking in and I saw a woman weeping. She was talking to one of the detectives and I realised that it was Miss O'Driscoll's mother, the bone structure in their faces was almost identical. I was suddenly aware that I was still wearing my apron, the one I'd been wearing during the examination and as you can imagine, it was not a pretty sight."

"Oh dear," said Fraser, "did her mother see you?"

"I'm not sure," replied Mort, "but I just looked at my apron and then at her face and...and..." Mort's voice wavered. "It was such a long time ago Fraser, but I've always wondered if there was something I missed? Something that would have helped to trace her killer? Seeing Miss Cortez here...I don't know why, but the O'Driscoll case has suddenly come back to haunt me..." Mort couldn't speak any more.

"Mort, you cannot blame yourself, I'm sure you did everything you could," said Fraser, encouragingly. "Additionally, for as yet undetermined reasons, you are physically and emotionally low at the present time. A situation that could be resolved, I might add, by a visit to your doctor." He paused and looked over his shoulder, before returning his gaze to Mort. " I also understand what it's like to feel haunted," he said, quietly. "I will head upstairs and speak to Lieutenant Welsh, I'm sure we can arrange..."

"No," Mort interrupted him. "No Fraser, I will do this. You and Detective Vecchio are going to struggle to give her family the answers they need without my input."

"Your input is invaluable Mort," confirmed Fraser.

"And...then I will call my doctor," added Mort. Fraser nodded and smiled.

Mort sighed a huge sigh, then got to his feet and walked back towards the table. Fraser followed, He put his gloves back on and without saying anything, he folded back the sheet that was covering the body of Anna Cortez. Mort picked up his instruments, but then he closed his eyes, fighting for composure. Fraser hesitated for a moment, but then took a deep breath and began to sing.

Mort immediately opened his eyes and smiled, instantly recognising the opening of one of his favourite arias. He listened for a moment, he loved Fraser's warm singing voice and he'd always admired the emotion that the younger man was able bring out when he sang, completely contrary to his usual demeanour. He let Fraser sing the first section solo and then he joined in, his deeper baritone blending beautifully with Fraser's voice.

The two men sang as they worked, only pausing to speak when they had to and Mort would be eternally grateful to his younger friend for helping him get through one of the most difficult mornings' work of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was almost lunchtime when Fraser walked back up the stairs towards the squad room with his hat tucked under his arm. He took a sharp breath and almost dropped his hat when he heard a voice behind him. "He's a good man, that mortician friend of yours."

"Dad!" exclaimed Fraser, putting his hat on his head for safekeeping, "a little warning next time please."

"Sorry Son," replied the ghost of Bob Fraser.

"Do you have anything important to say Dad,"asked Fraser, impatiently, "because I need to speak to Ray urgently about this homicide investigation." He stopped on the stairs and addressed his father with his arms folded.

"You can't even spare a minute to speak to your old, dead Dad?" Bob Fraser replied, forlornly.

"Don't give me that Dad, I'm not falling for it," sighed Fraser.

"Oh alright Son," Bob shook his head, "I just wanted to suggest you keep an eye on your friend Mort for a few days. He's always been very accepting of my presence."

"Thank you kindly Dad, but I'd already thought of that." Fraser continued walking up the stairs, but then he stopped dead in his tracks and turned back to face his father. "Wait a minute, he can see you?"

"Well not exactly," replied Bob, "but he knows I'm there, I'm sure of it. Can't explain it, but he knows. He talks to me sometimes, just the odd word or two."

"Are you sure?" Fraser wasn't sure whether he believed what his father was telling him.

"Fairly sure," shrugged Bob Fraser, "I mean as sure as I am about anything these days. I never imagined being dead would be so complicated, Son."

"Indeed," agreed Fraser.

"He has a past, you know," added Bob, a little more quietly now.

"Everyone has a past Dad," replied Fraser, shaking his head, wondering what his father was trying to say. He carried on up the stairs and along the corridor towards the squad room.

"I know, I know, but Mort has a dark past, a troubled childhood," Bob frowned, "I can't be more specific I'm afraid, I just know that he's had a lot to overcome, that's all."

Fraser stared at his father. "Did he tell you this?" he asked. Bob shook his head. "Then how do you know?"

"Well you know Son, you hear things. You pick up snippets of information." Bob replied.

"From other dead people you mean? In...the afterlife?" Fraser queried in disbelief.

"Just because I'm dead Son, doesn't mean my ears have stopped working," said Bob, flatly. "Now run along, I thought you were in the middle of a murder investigation."

Fraser was just about to make a retort to his father, but by now he was at the doors of the squad room. As he opened the door and stepped through, he realised that the ghost of Bob Fraser had disappeared.

Ray was on the telephone, but he beaconed to his partner to come over. He replaced the receiver and slumped back in his chair. "I hope ya got some news for me buddy," he sighed, "coz I got nothin', zero."

"Ah," replied Fraser, rubbing a thumb over his left eyebrow, "I am afraid I'm about to disappoint you Ray."

Ray hung his head. "Tell me you at least got a cause of death for me."

"Well, yes and no," began Fraser. "Her death appears to have been caused by the sudden failure of several of her major organs. However, the cause of said organ failure remains unknown." Ray shook his head in disappointment. This investigation was getting nowhere fast. "There were some anomalies, for instance, I noticed that the contents of her stomach contained..."

"Fraser!" Ray interrupted, "I don't want to know about that, OK? I just ate a sandwich. Just tell me you, er, tell me ya didn't, y'know..." Ray mimicked sniffing, trying not to think about it too much.

"Ray, as you know, olfactory analysis is a very accurate way of..." Fraser stopped talking when he noticed the green tinge that had crept into to his partner's complexion. Instead he added, "We may know more when we get the results from the laboratory tests."

"How's Mort?" enquired Ray, eager to change the subject.

"Unfortunately, this case has caused an unpleasant memory to resurface," explained Fraser, without wanting to go into too much detail. "Coupled with the current state of his health, it has been a rather heavy double blow, as it were. He has, however, agreed to visit his doctor this afternoon."

Ray nodded. "Good, good, OK. So we got no cause of death and, er, no suspects. Greatness," he sighed, "c'mon Fraser," he leapt to his feet, "Anna's sister called, their brother's at her place. Let's go talk to him."

XxX

Rachel Cooper opened the front door with a forced smile. "Hello Detective," she said. Her eyes were red and puffy and her voice was shaky.

"Er, this is my partner, Constable Benton Fraser," said Ray as he and Fraser stepped into the house.

"You're a Mountie?" asked a surprised Rachel, recognising the uniform.

"Yes," acknowledged Fraser, "I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I have remained, attached as liaison to the Canadian Consulate." Rachel said nothing, stunned at the long winded explanation. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss," added Fraser.

Rachel nodded. "My brother's through here," she explained, leading the two men into her living room. "He's going to stay with us for a few days."

"Mr Cortez," began Ray, "I'm afraid we need to ask you a few questions."

"Please call me Ritchie," replied Rachel's brother as he stood to shake both of their hands.

"OK," agreed Ray, "um, you and Anna worked together, is that right?"

"Yes, yes," Ritchie Cortez nodded, "but in different areas. I work mainly in the forensics department, but Anna works...worked...in medical research, just like our father did."

"Your father was in a similar line of work?" asked Fraser.

"Yes," replied Rachel, "Anna was so proud to be following in his footsteps. He had quite a reputation."

"I imagine living up to that may have been difficult at times," Fraser suggested, wistfully, thinking about his own situation.

"We are all immensely proud of the work our father did," explained Rachel, "he developed many new drug treatments for all sorts of different medical conditions. He passed away last year."

"I'm sorry," said Fraser, sympathetically, "but it sounds like he helped a lot of people." Rachel nodded, she was in danger of losing her composure.

Ray felt so sorry for her. Her family had been through so much, it just didn't seem fair. "Do you know if Anna had any enemies?" he asked.

"No," replied Ritchie, shaking his head, "everyone liked her. She was good at her job and friendly and..." his voice wavered and Rachel put her arm around him.

"Why would anyone do this to her?" Rachel directed her question to Ray with pleading eyes.

"That's what we're going to find out ma'am," replied Ray, determinedly.

They spent the next twenty minutes asking Rachel and Ritchie more questions, finding out as much as they could about their sister and her life. They were just about to leave, when the front door opened and a young girl aged about five came running in followed by a man. Ray recognised them from this morning as Rachel's husband Jamie and their daughter Georgia. The little girl ran straight into Ritchie's arms. "Daddy said you were going to stay with us," she squealed with delight.

"Just for a few days, princess," replied Ritchie.

Georgia stepped back from her uncle and looked at Fraser. "Are you a policeman?" she asked.

"Well, yes" replied Fraser. He'd learnt that it was unnecessary to explain the exact nature of his posting when dealing with small children.

"Someone's left a dog in a car outside," the little girl went on, "you need to tell them off. You're not allowed to leave dogs in cars because they get too hot."

Fraser and Ray were stunned and a little amused by Georgia's forthright manner. "I think you may be referring to my wolf, Diefenbaker," suggested Fraser, "and it's quite alright, we have left the windows open slightly. Thank you for your concern however, you are a very observant little girl."

"A wolf!" exclaimed Georgia, "wow! Are you going to catch the bad man who hurt Auntie Anna? I'm sad that she's died."

"We are going to try our very best," replied Fraser as reassuringly as he could. He was always amazed at the direct honesty of children.

"She's taking it so well," said Georgia's father, "I wish we could all be that strong." He hugged his wife.

Fraser nodded. "Thank you kindly for your time," he said. "We'll be in touch."

XxX

Later that evening, Fraser and Ray had returned to the Consulate. Ray was flicking through his notebook with one hand whilst simultaneously eating a slice of pizza with the other.

Inspector Meg Thatcher came in. "Fraser, where's Turnbull?" She asked, rather abruptly.

"I believe he's working his shift at the soup kitchen, sir," replied Fraser. Meg tutted and left the room.

"What was all that about?" asked Ray. "Ice Queen's even more icy than usual."

"I'm afraid I have no idea?" Fraser shrugged, taking another slice of pizza from the box.

Just then there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it," called Meg, but Fraser had already made it out into the hall. "Fraser, I'm expecting someone," continued Meg, slightly awkwardly, standing between her subordinate and the door.

Fraser heard a voice from the other side of the door. "Meggie Meg? Are you going to let me in?"

Fraser stared at Meg with wide eyes, suddenly very embarrassed and he cleared his throat as he felt the colour in his cheeks rising. He'd never heard anyone call her that before. "It's the Portuguese Ambassador," Meg said, her cheeks almost the same shade of red as Fraser's now and her throat suddenly very dry. "We have, um, we have some very important things to discuss, er, over dinner. A dinner meeting, a very important dinner meeting."

"Are you expecting this to be a particularly long dinner meeting?" Fraser asked, tugging at his ear as he glanced over Meg's shoulder to the overnight bag that she'd left in the hall.

Meg's head snapped round to follow Fraser's eye line and drew a sharp breath as she realised he'd seen the bag. She spun her head back round. "No Fraser," she replied, now very uncomfortable with this conversation.

"My beautiful Meg," called the Portuguese Ambassador through the door again. "It's a little cold out here!"

Before Meg could stop him, Fraser reached out and opened the door. "Boa tarde" he said in his best Portuguese.

The Ambassador smiled a warm smile and stepped into the Consulate. "Meggie, who is your charming colleague?" he asked and then, looking at Meg with an even warmer smile, he added, "and I must say you are looking particularly ravishing tonight."

Meg looked from Fraser to the Ambassador and back to Fraser again, who was hurriedly running a finger around his collar. "This is Fraser," she said abruptly. She turned, picked up her bag and forcibly pushed the Ambassador out of the door, following quickly behind.

"Nice to meet you," the Ambassador called out over his shoulder, as Meg manhandled him out towards his waiting car. Fraser shut the door behind them and then spun around, leaning with his back against the door staring down the hall. He really didn't want to think about what his superior officer and the Portuguese Ambassador had planned for the evening. He stood up straight and cricked his neck to the left and then to the right and then he cleared his throat and his mind and strode back into the other room.

"Funny thing Fraser," Ray started talking to his partner as soon as he came back into the room, much to Fraser's relief, "Ritchie said he didn't know what Anna was working on, but one of her colleagues, a, er," he turned back a page in his notebook, "a Jon Cleveland, said she'd been working with her brother on something."

"Odd," agreed Fraser, his mind now totally refocussed on the case. "We'll ask him about that tomorrow. It may have been an accidental error on his part, he was rather distressed throughout the interview."

"Y'see why this one's got to me Fraser," sighed Ray. "They're just normal, nice, law abidin' people. Anna Cortez never even got a parkin' ticket. Who would want to kill her."

"Did you speak to her ex-boyfriend this morning?" enquired Fraser.

"Yeah," nodded Ray, passing a piece of pizza crust to Diefenbaker, "they parted as friends and he lives in, er, Arkansas now with his new wife. He hasn't been back to Chicago for almost a year."

"I see." Fraser frowned. He had hoped they'd have more to go on by now. Suddenly there was another knock at the front door. Fraser got up to answer it and was surprised to see Mort standing on the doorstep. "Mort, I didn't expect to see you here, come through." He led Mort into the other room where Ray was just finishing up the last of the pizza.

"I thought I'd call in on my way home," explained Mort, his heavy accent clipping the consonants sharply. He placed a file down on the table in front of him and put his glasses on.

"Well, it is dark outside now," replied Fraser with a small grin.

Mort smiled back. "Very amusing Constable," he replied, dryly. Ray looked slightly puzzled at the exchange. Mort reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small bottle. He handed it to Fraser who took it from him and read the label.

"Iron tablets," said Fraser, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," nodded Mort, with half a smile, "you were right. He also suggested I adjust my diet. He took blood, of course, but he didn't seem overly concerned."

"That's good news," smiled Fraser, handing the bottle back to the older man.

"I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier," said Mort, looking at the floor.

"Hey, no need," said Ray shaking his head, "I'm just glad, y'know, that you're OK."

"Did Fraser tell you about Mary O'Driscoll?" Mort asked Ray.

"Who?" queried Ray, glancing at his partner.

"I didn't want to betray your confidence," explained Fraser.

Mort laughed. "That's quite alright. She was one of my first cases," he told Ray, "unsolved," he clarified. Ray nodded understandingly. "Miss Cortez reminds me very much of Miss O'Driscoll and I'm afraid I didn't deal with that very well this morning."

"You were feeling unwell," Fraser reminded him, "In those circumstances, situations tend to become exaggerated in one's mind." He picked up the file that Mort had brought in with him. "What's this?"

"Ah, that's the reason I'm here," explained Mort, "the preliminary lab results."

"Wow," said a surprised Ray, "I wish they worked that fast on every case."

"She was one of their own," Fraser reminded him, looking through the paperwork. He frowned and passed it to Ray. "I'm sorry Mort," he said, "chemistry has never been my strong point. I'm not entirely sure I understand."

Ray looked even more puzzled and handed the file back to his partner. "She'd taken drugs?"

"There were minute traces of a large number of different things," explained Mort. "Some have yet to be identified. Individually, not enough to cause death, not even enough to have much of an effect, but..."

"Combined, the effects were deadly," Fraser finished his sentence, suddenly understanding.

"So she OD'd?" Ray still didn't understand, "and she got all the stuff from her lab, I guess?"

"It doesn't make any sense Ray," replied Fraser, "these are such small quantities, it would be the most convoluted way of obtaining a chemical high, or committing suicide, if, indeed either of those were her intention." Fraser glanced down the list again. "I only recognise a few of these," he said, showing the paper to Mort, "this is used to treat liver disease and this one is for hypertension, am I right?"

"Yes," Mort nodded, "and these two appear to be similar to drugs that would be given for diseases of the nervous system, but they are not quite like anything that is already available."

"They were experimental drugs?" Fraser rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow as he spoke.

"It would appear so," Mort replied. He stood up. "I must be going now, but there was just one more thing," he hesitated and looked at Ray, "I was wondering if you would be able to get hold of a copy of the O'Driscoll file for me, please?"

Ray glanced at Fraser," Mort, that case must be, er, must be nearly twenty years old," he replied, "cold cases are archived, I mean, I could put in a request, but, er, why do you need it?"

Fraser looked at Mort seriously. "Mort, I don't think this is a good idea," he said, "I know what you're thinking, but, unless new evidence comes to light or a new witness comes forward, I really think that you should let the poor girl rest in peace."

"Fraser, there might have been evidence that I missed?" Mort pleaded. "You don't understand. Haven't you ever felt that there was something more you could have done?"

"On occasion," replied Fraser, sadly, but then he added, "You know, the Inuit have a saying, 'Don't let yesterday use up too much of today'." He fell silent, allowing Mort to think about his words.

Mort nodded slowly, acknowledging that the Mountie was probably right. "I hope you can solve this one," he said earnestly.

"So do I," sighed Ray.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next morning, Ray and Fraser visited the premises of Denton Laboratories. They were greeted by Jon Cleveland, the colleague of Anna's who had talked to Ray on the phone the day before. He was much older than Anna, with receding hair and a meek manner. He showed them to her lab. "This is all so sad," he said, "she was such a sweet girl."

"Do you know exactly what she was working on?" asked Ray.

"Anna and I had been looking into the effects of a new treatment for Multiple Sclerosis," replied Cleveland, "but I know she was working on something else too, something for Mr Denton," he added.

"She kept the exact nature of this work a secret from you?" enquired Fraser.

"Yes," replied the other man, "she would stay late sometimes, or hide notes from me and she had meetings with Mr Denton that I knew nothing about. Her brother was involved somehow too, so I don't know if it had something to do with the forensics side of things?"

"Mr Denton, I take it he's the boss?" asked Ray, surveying the room.

"He owns the company," explained Cleveland, "it was passed to him from his father and his grandfather before that."

"I see," nodded Fraser, "thank you kindly."

"I'll leave you to look around," said Jon Cleveland, "but if you need anything, just come and find me. My room's down the hall."

As soon as Cleveland had left the room, Ray turned to Fraser. "Somethin's queer," he said, picking up a pile of paperwork from Anna's desk. "Secret projects for the boss?"

"It does sound rather suspicious," agreed Fraser. He opened the top drawer of Anna's desk, but found nothing more than pens and pencils.

Ray wandered over to a large whiteboard in the corner of the room. On it were a number of calculations and equations that made no sense to Ray at all. "What's all this Fraser?" he asked, but just as Fraser was about to answer, the door burst open and Ritchie Cortez came into the room. His face was filled with rage.

"What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

"Er, tryin' to find out who killed your sister?" sneered Ray. He didn't like the other man's attitude at all.

"Some of this equipment is very sensitive," replied Ritchie, "you can't just come in here."

"We could get a warrant," snapped Ray.

Fraser was eager to calm the situation. "Mr Cortez, we are simply trying to discover any information that could lead us to discover what happened to Anna." Fraser paused and regarded Ritchie for a moment. He appeared angry, but there was something else too, thought Fraser. He seemed almost frightened. "Do you have any further information?" Fraser asked cautiously. He got no reply. "Mr Cleveland seems to be under the impression that you and Anna were working on something together?"

"Well Jon Cleveland has his facts wrong," replied Ritchie, defensively, "I work in a different department. I came over here sometimes just to see Anna. She was my sister, there's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Ray was starting to get jumpy now. "I'm surprised to see ya here today," he said, "thought you'd be at home with Rachel. Times like this, y'know, families need to be together, right Fraser?"

"I wouldn't know about that Ray," replied Fraser, quietly, tugging at his left ear, "as you know, I have no family." Ray felt a bit guilty about dragging that up, but annoyed with his partner at the same time as he'd hoped for a little back up in this instance.

"I just stopped by to collect a few things," Ritchie's voice was calmer now.

"From Anna's lab?" Ray replied, suspiciously.

"I'll come back later," Ritchie stormed out of the lab.

Ray looked at Fraser. "Somethin's queer," he reiterated.

Fraser nodded and opened the second drawer in Anna's desk. It was filled with papers, mostly handwritten notes. He lifted out the paperwork and placed it on top of Anna's desk, then peered inside the empty drawer. "What is it buddy?" Ray walked over and crouched down next to Fraser.

"This drawer..." Fraser's voice trailed off as he put his hand up inside the drawer and felt around, tapping it on the sides and base. He shook his head. Then he removed the drawer completely from the desk and rested it on his knee while he felt in all the four corners with two fingers. Suddenly there was a clicking sound. "Ah," he said, and Ray watched in amazement as the base of the drawer became loose and Fraser lifted it out to reveal another pile of papers hidden underneath.

Ray reached in and lifted them out. "How did ya know?" he asked his partner.

"Well Ray, it was clear that the internal dimensions of this drawer were disproportionate to the external dimensions," explained Fraser, matter of factly. Ray shrugged and began flicking through the pages.

"This isn't Anna's writin'," he said, puzzled.

Fraser took some of the papers and nodded. "This is much older," he said and held it up to his nose, inhaling twice, once quickly and once more slowly. "Tobacco smoke," he declared.

"I don't think Anna smoked?" replied Ray.

"Indeed," agreed Fraser, reassembling the drawer and replacing it in Anna's desk. "I'd like Mort to take a look at these papers," he said.

"Yeah," agreed Ray, "but first I'd like to talk with the big boss, Denton."

"Agreed," replied Fraser. "We'll ask Mr Cleveland to introduce us.

XxX

Jon Cleveland took Ray and Fraser to Michael Denton's office. He was much younger than either of them had expected, only a little older that they themselves were. Fraser reprimanded himself for making assumptions about people based on very little information. Denton introduced himself and expressed his sadness at the death of Anna Cortez.

"We know she was workin' on something for Multiple Scerl, er Multiple Sclor..." Ray shook his head as his tongue stumbled over the word.

"Multiple Sclerosis," finished Fraser. "Do you know if there were any other projects in which she was involved?"

"No," replied Denton. "The MS drug was very important. We were so close with that one. I hope Cleveland can finish the work on his own."

"It could help a lot of people with a terrible condition," acknowledged Fraser.

"Yes and Runcorns have already put in an advance order," explained Denton, "we're talking a lot of money here Constable."

Fraser glanced at Ray. "Runcorns?" queried Ray.

"Huge pharmaceuticals company. If we lose that order..." Denton clenched his teeth as he finished speaking.

"I imagine that would place a considerable financial strain on your business," Fraser replied. Denton nodded. "Are you in financial difficulties?" Fraser enquired.

Denton shook his head, vigorously. "No, no, not at all," he paused, "well, isn't every business? I mean, if we don't make enough money, we go under."

"I see," Fraser thought they'd heard enough. He glanced at Ray who seemed to be in agreement. "Thank you kindly for your time." Fraser and Ray left Denton's office and headed back to the GTO.

As Fraser settled himself down in the passenger seat, he removed the papers that they'd found hidden in Anna's drawer from his hat, where he'd secreted them for the duration of their meeting with Denton. He began to look at some of the writing. "I hope Mort can make sense of some of these," he said, "I'm afraid chemistry is something I know little about. I once read a very interesting library book..."

"About chemistry?" interrupted Ray.

"No Ray, about canine behaviour," replied Fraser. Ray looked at him, completely bemused. "However," Fraser went on, "there was a very interesting chapter on the psychology of animal training. The suggestion being that the human brain is, much like a dog's, naturally attuned to instinctive survival. Sensing danger, being able to assert oneself amongst your pack and such like. The relatively small percentage of people who are naturally gifted in the areas of science and mathematics have been shown to have less capabilities in those areas."

"So you're sayin' that ya can't be good at livin' in the middle of a frozen wasteland and be good at math?" Ray still wasn't quite sure that he understood.

"Something along those lines," Fraser nodded, "and I do wish you would resist the urge to refer to my home as a frozen wasteland. It sounds rather derogatory."

"Sorry buddy," replied Ray, trying to hide his smirk.

XxX

Back at the police station, Fraser went down to the morgue to leave a copy of the notes they'd found hidden in Anna's desk with Mort, hoping that he may be able to shed some light on their significance.

Mort quickly looked over the paperwork. "I'll see what I can make of it," he said. "I have some text books at home, I'll see if they're any help. Some of these things I recognise."

"Thank you kindly Mort," replied Fraser, "Anything you can give us would be most appreciated. I am afraid we are no further along with this investigation."

Mort smiled. "It's only been two days," he reminded the Mountie.

Fraser nodded. "Indeed." He was pleased to see that Mort seemed much better than he had yesterday. "How are you today?" he asked.

"I'm fine Fraser," replied Mort. "Actually I've been doing a lot of thinking."

"Thinking?" Fraser was puzzled. "What about? If you don't mind me asking."

"Not at all," said Mort, earnestly, "I've been thinking about what happened yesterday. I never want to feel like that again."

"Well you simply need to follow your doctor's advice and..." but Fraser was interrupted by Mort.

"I didn't mean that," he said, "I was referring to the way I dealt with the autopsy. I let my personal feelings get in the way and it was unprofessional and if it wasn't for you, I could have seriously jeopardised the investigation."

"Mort, there were extenuating circumstances," Fraser reminded him, "We all have to fight our personal feelings in this profession. Sometimes they take over, it's to be expected, we're allowed to do that once in a while."

"It's alright Fraser," Mort reassured him. "I've made a decision. I'm going to retire."

"What!" exclaimed Fraser. "No! You can't."

"I'm very happy with my decision Fraser," smiled Mort, "I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders."

Fraser wasn't convinced. "Mort, may I suggest that you think about this for a bit longer. It's not a decision to be taken lightly."

"I know my own mind," Mort replied.

"Of course, I'm sorry," Fraser hadn't meant to suggest otherwise. "Please Mort, promise me you won't do anything officially for a few days at least."

Mort sighed. "I know you mean well, but I think this is what I want."

"You think?" Fraser had picked up on Mort's indecisiveness and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Alright, alright," sighed Mort, "but I'm certain that I won't change my mind." Fraser nodded.

Just then Ray stuck his head round the door. "Francesca's dug up some info on Denton Labs, nothin' interestin', but I thought we should, er, go speak to Rachel. Maybe she knows somethin' about whatever it was Anna was doin' in secret. Maybe she can tell us why her brother was being so, er, so..." Ray scratched his head as he tried to think of the right word.

"Obstructive," Fraser finished his sentence for him. "He did seem rather agitated earlier when we visited their place of employment. Right you are Ray," he said, picking up his hat and placing it squarely on his head.

They said goodbye to Mort and headed back out to the car. Fraser held the door open for Ray as they stepped out into the Chicago sunshine, but suddenly he was almost knocked off his feet by Constable Turnbull who came running around the corner.

"Turnbull!" exclaimed Ray, "ya might wanna look where yer goin'sometimes, y'know!"

"I'm so terribly sorry Detective Vecchio," replied Turnbull, apologetically, "but I need to speak to Constable Fraser on a most urgent matter. Inspector Thatcher has requested that I choose the design for the invitations for the next annual International Carpet Cleaner's Convention that, as you probably know, we have the privilege of hosting this year." Ray just looked at him in disbelief. "I'm so glad I caught you Sir," Turnbull addressed Fraser now, "I need your advice. You know I'm no good at making important decisions." Turnbull produced a piece of paper from his tunic pocket and handed it to Fraser.

Fraser took one look at the piece of paper and handed it back to Turnbull. "The first one," he said, definitively. "The second one is too reminiscent of a herd of caribou searching for food. It would seem inappropriate under the circumstances."

"Oh thank you Sir," replied Turnbull. "I was actually thinking exactly the same thing."

Ray, who had peered over Fraser's shoulder and seen the two designs, stared at the two Mounties in total disbelief. He had a pretty good eye for art, at least he thought he had, but both of the designs had looked to him like nothing more than a few squiggles and some wavy lines.

Turnbull turned on his heels to leave, but just then they heard shouting. "Help!" It was Rosie, the homeless woman who often sheltered just outside the twenty seventh. Fraser, Ray and Turnbull ran over to her. "Help! Quickly, it's Davey," she said, gesticulating wildly towards the alley. "Something's wrong, I think he's having a heart attack!"

Fraser and Turnbull raced over to the alley and Ray followed them, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket as he did so to call for an ambulance. They found Davey, another of the homeless people who lived in the area, lying on the ground, suffering severe convulsions. Fraser dropped to his knees and tried to help, loosening the man's clothing and rolling him onto his side, but he had a bad feeling that his efforts would be in vain. "He's having some kind of seizure," he said. Suddenly, the convulsions stopped and the man was still. Fraser felt for a pulse. He glance up at Turnbull who was kneeling the other side of the man and shook his head, then he got to his feet and spoke to Rosie who was standing with Ray. "I'm so sorry Rosie," he said, solemnly, "there's nothing we could do." Rosie choked back tears and went to kneel by the body of her friend.

"Ray," began Fraser quietly, "I may be mistaken, but I believe that man's death may have been caused by..."

"Don't tell me," interrupted Ray, "major organ failure, right?"

"Yes Ray," replied Fraser, "but how did you know?"

"Just a hunch," shrugged Ray. "So we got ourselves a serial killer?"

"It would appear that way," agreed Fraser. "I'll be very interested to see what Mort has to say."

Turnbull walked over to them. "I knew that man," he said, sadly, "he used to come to the soup kitchen, but he didn't come in last night. Detective Vecchio," he turned to Ray, "I know you are in the middle of a homicide investigation. If you and Constable Fraser need to get away, I can deal with things here."

Ray was taken aback for a moment, but then he remembered that Turnbull was a police officer too. He was a Mountie, just like Fraser, even though Inspector Thatcher tended to treat him like her personal domestic servant sometimes. "Yeah, thanks Turnbull," he said.

"Please could you ask Mort to contact me on Ray's cellular telephone as soon as he has any information," Fraser requested.

"Yes Sir," Turnbull saluted and Fraser, rather awkwardly, returned the gesture.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

As they walked up the path to Rachel's house, Ray was going over things in his head. "If the test results show that, er, that homeless guy had those same drugs in his body as the ones that killed Anna Cortez, then what? What does that mean?"

"I'm not entirely sure at this juncture," admitted Fraser. "There does however appear to be a link between the two deaths and the research that Miss Cortez was working on at Denton Laboratories." Dief barked and looked up at Fraser. "Well if you have any ideas, please feel free to share them with us," Fraser spoke to his wolf with disdain. He looked round and realised that Ray had stopped. He was standing with one hand on his hip and the other covering his face. "Ray?"

"What are we gonna tell her buddy?" sighed Ray, moving the hand from his face, "we've got nothin' to tell her. This sucks Fraser."

"Ray," Fraser replied, quietly, "we are only two days into the investigation. Now admittedly progress is slower than I would have hoped, but..."

"We should've had this one wrapped up by now," Ray kicked a stone across the street in frustration. "Y'know, you lick somethin', I get a hunch, same as always, the old, er, duet thing. I want to walk into that house and tell Rachel Cooper and her family that we've got the bastard that murdered their sister, then she can start gettin' on with the rest of her life." Ray hung his head.

"Ray," began Fraser, concerned that Ray was taking this one so much to heart, "we will solve this case. We have some information to go on already." He paused. "Ray, look at me." His partner lifted his head slightly. "Try to focus," said Fraser.

Ray nodded. He walked up to the front door of the house and knocked loudly. Rachel answered it. Fraser noticed the dark rings under her eyes and he could tell she hadn't had much sleep. She ushered them inside and they were joined by Rachel's husband Jamie. Fraser showed them the old notes that they'd found in Anna's drawer. Rachel snatched them out of his hand and gasped. "This is my father's writing," she said, clearly shocked, "what was Anna doing with our father's notes? Ritchie told me Dad had destroyed all of his unfinished work."

"Why would he do that?" asked a puzzled Fraser.

Rachel sighed. "Because he was angry with himself that he couldn't save Mom." She suddenly became emotional and Jamie put his arm around her shoulders. Dief wandered over and rested his head on her knees.

"Their mother was very sick for the last few years of her life," explained Jamie, "she had various different things, unfortunately, but she fought hard, defying her doctors and lived much longer than anyone expected her to."

"And Mr Cortez was trying to develop a, er, a cure?" enquired Ray.

"Yes," Rachel's voice was quiet. "He hated seeing her suffer when he was an expert in his field, but he couldn't help her."

"That must have been very difficult for him," said Fraser sympathetically. Rachel nodded.

Just then Ritchie Cortez arrived home. He looked slightly shocked to find Ray and Fraser there again and even more shocked when he saw his father's handwritten notes on the table. "Um, I should apologise for this morning," he said, looking embarrassed. "I...that is I'm...I suppose I found it hard seeing someone going through Anna's things, that's all."

"I understand," replied Fraser, glancing at Ray. Ritchie was clearly not being very truthful. He opened the file that Francesca had given them with all the details of Denton Labs. "How much do you know about Michael Denton?" he asked Ritchie.

Ritchie sat down at the table. "Not that much really," he replied, "I don't have much to do with him over in the Forensics Department. He liked to get more involved with the research side of things."

"I see," replied Fraser, looking through the file, although there was nothing really that he could see that had any relevance to the case. As they already knew, Michael Denton had inherited the business, although he himself didn't have a science background, unlike his father and grandfather.

They heard Georgia running down the stairs. "Daddy," she called out, bursting into the room, "I broke the door on my dollhouse again," she said, standing with her hands on her hips in an angry gesture that made the others smile.

"OK honey," replied Jamie, "I'll get some glue in a minute. You need to be more careful with it. I'm just talking about something important at the moment."

Georgia came over to her dad and gave him a big hug. "OK," she said, but suddenly her face fell and she stared at the picture of Michael Denton that was in the file. Her eyes filled with tears and she let out a huge scream that shocked everyone with it's intensity. The little girl turned and ran our of the room, still screaming.

Rachel ran out after her and Jamie looked very worried. "What was that about?" asked Ray, glancing at Fraser and then back to Jamie. "Does she know Denton?"

"No," replied Jamie. He looked at Ritchie. "She's never been to work with you, or with Anna, has she?" Ritchie was very quiet. He just shrugged and shook his head without saying anything.

They could still hear Georgia screaming upstairs and Jamie, who was clearly quite concerned about his daughter now, stood up. "I'll go and see if she's alright," he said and headed upstairs.

Ritchie got to his feet now. "I'm going for a walk," he mumbled, walking out of the front door. Fraser glanced at Ray and he could see that his partner was thinking the same thing. Ritchie was suddenly behaving very strangely. With a nod to Fraser, Ray got up and headed out after Rachel's brother.

Fraser sat for a moment. He could still hear terrified screams from Georgia. If anything, he thought, she was becoming more and more agitated. He decided to go and see if he could help. He wanted to find out what had frightened her so much. When he got upstairs, he found Georgia laying face down on her bed, trembling and screaming and sobbing into her pillow. Rachel was trying to calm her, but with little success. Jamie was standing in the doorway. He looked up at Fraser. "I've never seen her like this before," he said, his brow furrowed, "I've never seen her this scared."

Rachel turned her head at the sound of her husband's voice. Fraser could see in her eyes that she was really worried. "May I try?" he asked. Rachel nodded and moved slightly to the side to let Fraser sit on the edge of her daughter's bed.

"Constable Fraser would like to talk to you," Rachel said, but her daughter didn't respond. She was trembling and her breathing was erratic, coming in sobs and pants. Diefenbaker nudged his nose into her side, but she didn't even seem to notice.

"Georgia," said Fraser, softly. "It's alright, there's nothing to be scared of." He put a hand gently on her back, trying to reassure her, but he realised that she was extremely distressed and she wasn't going to be able to give them any explanation or information until she was significantly less agitated.

Fraser thought for a moment and then remembered something he'd read in a library book many years ago in his Grandmother's library, a technique he'd had some success with before. "Georgia, I've got something here that I need you to help me with," he said. "This is a special, invisible balloon," Fraser continued, holding out his hand. The little girl's interest was sufficiently piqued for her to turn around, open her eyes and look at him. Her face was very red and streaked with tears. "I need you to blow it up for me. Can you do that? It's very important."

Fraser waited patiently and after a moment Georgia reached out a trembling hand and took the imaginary balloon. "Good girl," encouraged Fraser. He knew he had to get her breathing to return to a more normal pattern and just telling a small child to relax simply wouldn't work. "Now take a big breath and blow up that balloon, nice and slowly, you don't want it to go pop," Fraser said, smiling. Georgia did as she was told. She took a deep breath and blew into the imaginary balloon. "And again," Fraser coaxed, as the breathing exercise quickly began to achieve it's purpose.

"Well done," Fraser said, glancing over at the girl's parents. "Now then, do you think you can tell me why that photograph scared you?"

Georgia suddenly tensed again her eyes widened in fear. "I can't, I can't!"

"It's alright," Fraser spoke gently. "Nothing bad will happen. Do you want to blow up the balloon some more?" Georgia nodded and took one more deep breath. "Where have you seen that man before?" asked Fraser.

"At Auntie Anna's apartment," whispered Georgia, "when I stayed there." She reached out and began to stroke Dief on the head.

"She was there last weekend," explained Rachel, "Jamie and I went to the movies. Why were you scared of him honey?"

"He was shouting at Auntie Anna," Georgia's voice was a little more confident now. "I woke up and I came out of my room, but I hid behind the door because he was a scary man. Auntie Anna told him to go away, but he wouldn't go."

Georgia began to cry again. Fraser reached out and moved Georgia's tiny hand from the top of Dief's head around to his ears. "He likes it if you do this," explained Fraser, softly and Georgia relaxed slightly as Dief reacted positively to her touch. "He saw you didn't he." Fraser hesitated for a moment before asking the next question, as he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. "Did the man touch you? Did he hurt you Georgia?"

Georgia looked straight at him. "Auntie Anna went to get something. He kept saying he needed something. I don't know what it was? Then he saw me. Please can I blow up another balloon?"

"Of course you can," smiled Fraser, holding out his hand for her to take another imaginary balloon. Georgia had realised that it made her feel better and she took two more deep breaths. "What did he do?" Fraser prompted.

"He shook my shoulders," the little girl replied, her voice shaky again, "he shook me and said I mustn't tell anyone I saw him there, or he'd hurt my Mommy and Daddy."

Rachel leaned forward as Georgia crumbled into tears and wrapped her arms around her daughter. "No one's going to do anything to us, I promise," she said, the anger in her voice clear to Fraser.

Fraser got to his feet. "Thank you kindly Georgia," he said gently. He nodded to Dief, thankful for the wolf's co-operation with Georgia and motioned to the animal to follow him.

XxX

Meanwhile Ray ran to catch up with Ritchie. "Leave me alone," snapped Ritchie, when he realised the Detective had followed him.

"Not 'til ya tell me what the hell's goin' on," Ray responded, angrily, "how come the kid freaked like that?"

Ritchie shook his head. "Look Detective, I don't like Denton either, OK, he put too much pressure on Anna." He stopped walking and turned to look at Ray. "Those old notes you found, they were my father's, all his research, everything he was working on before he died."

"Figured as much," replied Ray, expectantly. He knew there was more to this than Ritchie was letting on. "Rachel said your Dad destroyed all his research."

"That's what he told my sisters," Ritchie's voiced wavered a little, "but he gave them to me. He wanted me to carry on with his work, but I couldn't. Don't get me wrong Detective, I'm good at my job, but Anna was the smart one, she was the one who could figure all that stuff out. She had an amazing mind, she could just see things clearly, do you understand what I mean? She was brilliant and now...now...she's dead..." Ritchie was overcome with emotion.

Ray felt really sorry for him, but equally he couldn't quite understand why he hadn't told them all this in the first place. He stood with his arms folded. "So ya gave your Dad's notes to Anna. What about Denton? Where does he fit into all of this?"

Ritchie took a deep breath. "Anna needed her department budget increased to fund the extra work," he explained. "I didn't want anyone else to know, but she insisted on telling Mr Denton. Last time I saw her, we argued about it again. With Denton, everything's about money. He could never understand how important it all was to my father. Dad worked so hard because he didn't want to lose Mom." Ritchie had to stop and compose himself again.

"Did Denton give your sister the, er, the extra money?" asked Ray.

Ritchie nodded. "Yes, but he then he kept interfering. He wanted her to fast track the results, so that he could get some of these drugs into production, but they were nowhere near ready. They needed proper testing. Denton doesn't understand, he's a businessman, not a scientist."

Ray stood silently taking in all this information. "C'mon," he said, let's get back to the house.

XxX

As they drove away from Rachel and Jamie's house, Ray and Fraser exchanged the information they'd learnt that evening. "Is, er, is Georgia OK now?" asked Ray.

"I believe so," replied Fraser, "she's a very strong little girl. I think it was a shock to her parents to see her that frightened. They will hopefully be able to put her mind at rest."

"So if we add that to what, er, Ritchie told me, then I guess we should go and talk to Michael Denton again," said Ray, he was starting to get twitchy now that they finally had a possible suspect.

"Agreed," nodded Fraser, "he certainly has a few awkward questions to answer."

Francesca's voice came across the radio and Fraser reached forward and picked it up. "This is Constable Fraser..." but Francesca interrupted him before he could launch into his usual long greeting.

"Frase, Mort wanted me to tell you about the dead homeless guy," said Francesca. "He said you were right, cause of death is probably the same as Anna Cortez, but he can't confirm it until he gets all the lab stuff back. Oh and he said to tell you that he's sent the samples to another lab, not Denton Labs. He thought it was probably best, under the circumstances."

"Thank you kindly Francesca," replied Fraser, replacing the radio, but just as he did, Ray's phone began to ring. Ray reached into his jacket and passed his phone to Fraser. "Good evening, Detective Vecchio's..." but he got interrupted again, this time with very good reason. "Rachel, slow down," he said urgently. Ray glanced at his partner and immediately spun the GTO around, as Fraser nodded with wide eyes, listening to Rachel's desperate voice on the other end of the line. "We're on our way."

"What's goin' on?" asked Ray, as he raced back along the street.

"I'm not entirely sure," replied Fraser, clearly worried, "Rachel said Ritchie and Jamie are fighting? She said Ritchie just went crazy and attacked her husband."

They pulled up outside Rachel's house again and Ray and Fraser leapt out of the car and ran up to the front door. "Rachel," Fraser called out and Dief barked loudly. They could hear the two men arguing inside accompanied by crashing and banging.

"Rachel!" Ray called out, preparing to throw his weight against the door, but Fraser held him back. He'd heard Rachel's footsteps. The door opened and the terrified woman stood there with tears running down her face.

Ray and Fraser ran straight into the house. "Please stop them," cried Rachel. They found Ritchie and Jamie embroiled in a fist fight. Ritchie clearly had the size advantage, but Jamie was fuming with rage and was trying his best to fight back, although he had blood pouring down his face. Ray rushed over and dragged Ritchie off and Fraser went to Jamie, but the two men were clearly not ready to give up the fight just yet and desperately tried to free themselves and continue. Ritchie threw another punch and Fraser barely managed to pull Jamie out of the way.

"Enough!" yelled Ray, but Ritchie shook himself free for a moment and Ray had to lunge forward to stop him. Fraser took a step forward and, without taking his hand from Jamie's arm, he put himself right between the two men.

"Get out of my way!" Ritchie shouted through gritted teeth and tried again to free himself from Ray's grip.

"That's it," Ray had finally lost his patience with the man, "on your knees, now!" Ray bundled Ritchie onto his knees and held his hands behind his back. "Cool it!" he instructed, "don't make me have to arrest ya."

Fraser and Rachel helped Jamie into a chair. Fraser held Jamie's bloodied face to one side and squinted at his swollen eye and the blood trickling out of his nose. Rachel looked horrified at the state of her husband. "Could you fetch a cloth and some ice, please," Fraser asked her. Rachel nodded and rushed out to the kitchen. Fraser held Jamie's head forward slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose to stem his nosebleed. Jamie was beginning to calm down slightly.

Rachel returned with the cloth and the ice and set about cleaning Jamie the best she could. Fraser took the ice and applied it to the swollen side of the man's face with his free hand. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Rachel screamed at her brother.

Ritchie knelt with his head down and didn't respond. Ray still had him restrained, but he slowly loosened his grip. "I'm gonna let go of your arms," he advised, sharply, "but if ya do anythin' dumb then I'll arrest ya, OK?"

Ray released Ritchie and helped the man to his feet. Ritchie stood facing Ray. He couldn't bring himself to look at Rachel or Jamie. "You have to arrest me anyway Detective," he said solemnly, holding out his arms, his wrists together in preparation for handcuffs.

"Why?" sneered Ray, looking at Fraser who appeared equally as puzzled.

"Because I killed her," was Ritchie's sombre reply.

"What? No!" Rachel couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You were right," Ritchie turned and spoke to Jamie, his voice steady now, "you said it was my fault and you were right. I killed my sister. I am guilty of her murder." He turned back to Ray and his voice was strangely impassive. "Please arrest me."

"Jamie, what's he talking about?" Rachel pleaded with her husband for an explanation.

Jamie shook Fraser away. "I wasn't suggesting that you killed her, you moron," he said, shaking his head.

Fraser witnessed the exchange with some confusion. Obviously the fight had stemmed from a war of words, but he was fairly convinced that Ritchie was no murderer. "Ritchie, you need to consider exactly what you're saying," he said, seriously.

"I know what I'm saying Constable," replied Ritchie, "I am guilty of the pre meditated murder of my sister, Anna Cortez." He lifted his wrists higher and looked at Ray, expectantly.

Ray hesitated for moment. He was as sure as Fraser that Ritchie was lying, or at least the man was very confused. He glanced back at his partner. "Fraser, I..."

"Ray, you have a confession," replied Fraser, seriously, nodding towards Ritchie, "you have no choice."

Ray sighed, he knew Fraser was right of course. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handcuffs, snapping them onto Ritchie's outstretched wrists. "I'm arresting you for the murder of Anna Cortez..." he began and he continued to read the man his rights.

Rachel looked at Fraser, desperately. "I'm sorry Rachel," said Fraser, quietly. He helped Ray walk Ritchie Cortez out the the car and Ray bundled him into the back seat of the GTO. Rachel stood silently with Jamie's arm around her shoulder. Fraser turned to look at her.

"What's happening to my family?" she said, her voice barely a whisper as her sobs took over. Fraser was about to offer some words of comfort when Rachel suddenly slumped into Jamie's arms. Fraser rushed to help as Jamie lifted his wife up into his arms and carried her indoors. Fraser turned back to Ray, "I'll be a few minutes," he said and Ray nodded. Fraser looked directly at Dief and silently instructed his wolf to stay with Ray.

As Fraser raced back into the house, Jamie had already lowered Rachel onto the sofa. Her eyes were open, but she couldn't seem to focus. She turned her head as she saw Fraser appear. "What happened?" she asked, drowsily.

Fraser knelt by the sofa and checked her pulse. "You're alright," he reassured her. "You fainted. You're exhausted." He lifted his head and spoke to Jamie. "Did she sleep at all last night?" he asked.

Jamie shook his head. "I don't think so. I didn't sleep much myself," replied Rachel's worried husband, his own headache still pounding from his earlier fight.

"I can't sleep," replied Rachel, crying again now. "My sister's dead and now Ritchie...why?"

"Rachel, listen to me," Fraser's voice was firm, but gentle. "Ray and I will sort this out, I promise. I'm afraid I'm not sure what Ritchie's doing at this juncture, but I don't believe he's guilty of murder." He paused for a moment and saw the pain in the woman's eyes. Her world had fallen apart in the last two days and he was determined that they would find her the peace that she needed. "Now, may I suggest a glass of warm milk. It may help you to sleep."

Rachel managed half a smile. "That's what we give Georgia before bedtime," she said.

"It works for her though, doesn't it?" Fraser raised his eyebrows as he spoke. Rachel smiled again and nodded. Fraser smiled back and got to his feet.

Jamie walked him to the door. "Thank you Constable," he said, shaking Fraser's hand. "Now please go and figure out what the hell my stupid dumb ass of a brother in law is trying to do."

"We will," replied Fraser. "How's your head?"

"Sore," admitted Jamie. "I haven't done that since I was in the schoolyard."

Fraser nodded and walked towards the GTO. "You should rest too. Take care of Rachel and Georgia and we'll be in touch as soon as there's any news."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Ray manhandled Ritchie Cortez into Interview Room One. He'd got more and more angry with the man during the drive back to the twenty seventh. He'd seen the fear in Rachel's eyes as she'd collapsed and he couldn't believe how her brother could do that to her. He knew that Ritchie hadn't killed Anna, unless there was something that he and Fraser had missed and that was highly unlikely, particularly for Fraser. He could also tell when someone was lying and Ritchie was lying, or at the very least Ritchie didn't truly believe what he was saying himself. "Ya did not kill Anna did you?" Ray slapped his hand on the table in front of Ritchie. Ritchie jumped at the noise, but didn't speak. "C'mon, why are ya doin' this?" Ray shouted, getting right up close to the other man's face.

"I'm not saying anything. I have that right," replied Ritchie, impassively.

"What?" Ray couldn't believe it.

"Perhaps Mr Cortez wishes to wait until his lawyer arrives?" suggested Fraser.

"I don't need a lawyer," said Ritchie.

"I think ya do," replied Ray incredulously, "ya just confessed to murder."

"A murder, I might add, that you did not commit," added Fraser. Ritchie sat and stared at the wall. Fraser pulled up the other chair and sat down opposite Ritchie.

"Mr Cortez, you are not helping your family by doing this," began Fraser. Still no reaction from Ritchie. "You are also obstructing the ongoing investigation into Anna's death." Fraser noticed the emotion that flickered across the other man's eyes, although he still remained silent.

Ray had finally lost all his patience. "You're makin' Rachel ill!" he yelled, but Ritchie still couldn't look at him. "Didn't ya see her just now?" Ray was really struggling not to kick this guy in the head. "Two days ago, Jamie and Rachel were a regular family with a, er, with a normal life and then their world gets torn apart and now you're doin' this?"

Fraser regarded his partner for a moment, suddenly realising why Ray had become so wrapped up in this particular family. He'd looked at Rachel, Jamie and Georgia and seen everything that he'd desperately wanted with Stella, but that he'd never had. Fraser caught his friend's eye and Ray recognised that Fraser now understood. Ray quickly looked away. " Right, that's it," he snapped, dragging Ritchie to his feet. "It's late. A night in a cell should knock some sense into ya."

Fraser began to protest, feeling that if he had a few more minutes he could get Ritchie to talk. Ray waved his hand at his partner dismissively and marched Ritchie down to a holding cell.

XxX

Later that evening, Fraser and Ray arrived back at the Consulate. They'd decided against paying Michael Denton another visit in light of the situation with Ritchie Cortez. As Fraser opened the front door, they were somewhat surprised to hear the distinctive voices of Constable Turnbull and Mort. Fraser walked into the main reception room to find the two men sat at the table, with papers and text books spread all over it. Turnbull was busy scribbling down copious notes as Mort read from one of the textbooks. As soon as he realised that Fraser and Ray were in the room, Turnbull leapt to his feet. "Constable Fraser," he said, saluting, "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there. Mort and I have been working on these formulae."

Fraser looked at Mort, puzzled at the explanation. Mort smiled. "I called in to speak to you, but you were out. However, it appears that young Turnbull here is quite the chemistry expert."

Ray raised his eyebrows in surprise at that explanation. "Turnbull?" he said, incredulously, earning himself a frown from Fraser for sounding a little rude.

"Yes Detective," replied Turnbull, looking at the floor sheepishly, "it was one of my passions at high school. I always got good grades in that particular subject. Although I have to say that most of this is completely beyond me."

"Now now Constable," reprimanded Mort, with a smile, "it's simply a matter of following the calculations through step by step. You're doing a marvellous job, you've been a great help." Mort handed Fraser some of the pages with Turnbull's notes on. "You see Fraser, this is incredible work. This is way beyond what's available at the moment. These drugs could help a lot of people, they could save lives. This research shows a lot of success at the preliminary testing stage, but the last results here are dated almost two years ago. Who did this research?"

"It was Anna Cortez's father," explained Fraser, "unfortunately he has since passed away."

"Oh I see," replied Mort, "it's a shame, he was making incredible progress. Interestingly,the drugs the we identified in the bodies of both Miss Cortez and the homeless man are similar but not identical to the formulae here, but in any case, they should never have been taken together. The combinations of some of these, even in low doses, would be fatal. Any medical scientist worth his salt would have known that."

"But someone who wasn't a, er, a scientist might not have realised?" suggested Ray.

Fraser suddenly realised what his partner was saying. "Someone like Michael Denton," he nodded and thought about it for a moment. "He was chasing Anna to finish the work on these new drugs and he was angry with her for not handing over the research so that he could put them into production. When Georgia saw him at Anna's apartment, he was demanding that she hand over the notes."

"Then why would he kill Miss Cortez," queried Turnbull, scratching his head. "If she was the one working on this, her death has meant all work has ceased surely?"

"He didn't mean to kill her," Ray was getting excited as they began piecing things together. "He somehow slipped her a, er, a promo, er, what's that word Fraser?"

"A prototype drug," said Fraser and Ray nodded, "or in this case, a combination of drugs," he added.

"Why?" asked Turnbull.

"As a human test subject, maybe?" suggested Mort, as their theory began to gather pace. "He was so sure about her abilities and her father's research that he was convinced it would be fine. Then he was going to start selling his new wonder drugs without a proper testing process." Mort shuddered at the thought.

"Exactly Mort," nodded Fraser, "of course this is all speculation at this juncture, but it would appear that he proceeded to fake the robbery to cover his tracks and then tried a second test subject."

"Davey," sighed Turnbull, sadly.

"I'm afraid so, yes," nodded Fraser.

"Greatness!" said Ray, clenching his teeth, "let's go and arrest the son of a..."

"Ray, wait," Fraser interrupted him, "we don't have any solid evidence, or proof."

"We got a motive," Ray reminded him.

"Ray you know that's not enough for an arrest. His lawyers would have him released in no time and that would jeopardise any future trial." Fraser was frustrated too, but they had to follow the correct procedure. He sometimes had to remind his partner of such things.

"OK," agreed Ray, his nostrils flaring with the effort it took for him to remain calm, "let me make a call, get a warrant and we can search the Denton Labs premises and then when we've got all the, er, the proof we need, then we can arrest his ass."

"That sounds like an excellent idea, but you're not going to be able to obtain a warrant at this time of night. We'll have to wait until morning," Fraser looked despondently at Ray who immediately turned and kicked a chair half way across the room. "Ray," warned Fraser.

"Well I think this is an excellent time for some bark tea," smiled Turnbull, hurriedly picking up the chair and disappearing off to the kitchen.

Fraser turned to Mort. "Thank you Mort," he said, "you've been a great help." He paused and glanced at Ray who was pacing up and down, trying to refrain from breaking something. "Have you given any more thought to your future?" he asked quietly.

"Fraser it's alright, it's not a secret," smiled Mort, half heartedly, "everyone will know soon enough that I'm taking retirement."

Ray stopped pacing and spun around to face Mort. "What?" he exclaimed, "you can't retire?"

"Please Detective," Mort shook his head, dejectedly, "you and Fraser don't seem to understand."

"Understand what?" asked a puzzled Ray, glancing at Fraser as he spoke.

"I've had enough, it's as simple as that," replied Mort with a dismissive shrug, "it's no big deal, as you would say. I'm looking forward to my retirement."

"Mort, ya can't honestly say that you'd be happy playin' chess in the park when there's killers out there that need catchin'," Ray was really angry with Mort now.

"I believe that catching killers is your job?" smiled Mort.

"Without your help on this case we wouldn't have been able to get this far," Fraser reminded the older man. "I still think you should take a few weeks before you make a final decision. This is a big decision, you need to be at full strength before you do anything rash."

Mort stood up. "I appreciate your concern, I really do," he paused for a second. "Fraser, things have changed. I'm older and before you say anything you cannot deny that is a fact. I've had a good career, but I really cannot function at my best these days. Too many things get in the way. My heart and my mind are just not in it any more."

Fraser stood and stared at Mort in silence. That little speech had come as a bit of a shock. Despite Mort's recent ill health, Fraser really thought that Mort was getting back to his old self, but now he sounded like he'd given up and Fraser couldn't bear to hear him talk like this. "Mort..." he began, running his thumb over his eyebrow, but he was interrupted by Turnbull returning with a tray of teacups.

"I'm sorry Turnbull," Mort mustered a smile, "I'm afraid I was just leaving. It's been a pleasure working with you."

Turnbull looked at Fraser and Ray, rather bemused at Mort's sudden departure.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The next morning, Ray had made it into the twenty seventh early and Lieutenant Welsh had agreed to arrange the search warrant. He poured himself a cup of coffee, his third that morning and was walking back from the lunch room to his desk when he heard a voice behind him. "Ray!"

Ray stopped in his tracks. "Morning Stell," he said with a sigh, recognising that particular tone in the voice of his ex-wife. That disapproving tone that he'd heard so many times before. "Look, I'm kinda busy right now so you'll have to beg me to take ya back another time."

"Very funny Ray," sneered Stella, who clearly wasn't in the mood for his humour, not that she'd been in the mood for his humour very much at all in the last few years. "I hear you have a Mr Cortez in a holding cell."

"Yeah, that's right," Ray finally turned to look at her. "So?"

"So, Ray, you haven't charged him with anything," Stella shook her head in disbelief.

"That's because he hasn't done anythin'," explained Ray, as if that was a valid explanation.

"But you arrested him for murder?" Stella was really confused now.

"Yeah, because he confessed to murder," shrugged Ray. "He's refusin' to say anything else now though. Why d'you care?"

"Ray I care because I've had his employer, a Mr Denton on the telephone talking about sending in big shot company lawyers and I don't need this today," Stella gesticulated wildly with her hands as she spoke.

"Cortez doesn't want a lawyer," Ray shrugged again, "and anyway, me and Fraser are just about to go arrest Denton for the aforementioned murder, so he'd better get those lawyers over here pronto."

"Fraser and I," corrected Stella.

"You ain't goin' with Fraser," sneered Ray, annoyed that she'd felt the need to pick him up on his grammar when he'd managed to get the word 'aforementioned' into the sentence.

Stella shook her head and turned to leave. "Either charge Cortez or get him out of here," she said as she walked out of the door, almost bumping into Fraser on her way out.

"Good morning Ms Kowalski," Fraser called out to her, then immediately picking up on her mood, he looked at Ray with a frown.

"Don't ask," Ray warned his partner, with a wave of his hand.

"Understood," nodded Fraser. "Has Ritchie been any more vocal yet this morning?"

"Nope," shrugged Ray. "Do ya wanna talk to him again? We gotta wait for this warrant anyway."

Fraser nodded. "I'd like to try," he said, "I don't believe for one moment that he murdered his sister, but he clearly feels that he's somehow responsible for her death. It may be beneficial if we are armed with all the facts before we confront Denton."

"OK," agreed Ray, "C'mon then." They left the squad room and headed down to the cells.

When they walked in, they found Ritchie Cortez laying on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Ray ran his knuckles across the bars to attract the man's attention. Ritchie turned his head slightly towards them. "My buddy here has more patience than me," Ray said, leaning on the bars with one arm. "Me, I get kinda annoyed with people wastin' my time." Ritchie swung his legs round and sat on the bed.

"I think you should reconsider your decision not to speak to a lawyer," said Fraser, standing with his arms folded across his chest. "Rachel is extremely concerned about you," he added. Still Ritchie was silent.

"Look, I got the States Attorney's Office on my back to either charge ya or release ya," said Ray, shaking his head, "I'm not gonna charge ya with somethin' ya did not do." Ray waited for a few moments before thumping his fist several times on the bars of the cell, creating a loud echo that rang through Fraser's hypersensitive hearing and made him wince.

"We are about to go and speak to Michael Denton," explained Fraser, "we have reason to believe that he is involved in your sister's murder. Would you care to furnish us with any additional information?" Ritchie lifted his head and looked at Fraser. "Your sister's murderer should be brought to justice," added Fraser, his voice much softer now, "Anna deserves that at the very least."

"It was all my fault," sighed Ritchie. "I pushed her to do that research. I insisted that she carry on our father's work. Denton was keen to get the medication into production, but we hadn't done enough testing. We were nowhere near ready. The clinical tests came back with great results of course, but they were just the start. I told Anna that our father had carried out tests, but I didn't really know for sure. I just wanted to give Dad the recognition he deserved and Anna of course."

"I don't get it," shrugged Ray, "ya said ya killed her?"

"I think she took the drugs herself." Ritchie looked at the floor.

"No, Ritchie," Fraser shook his head. "She would never have done that. She would have known that the combination would be fatal. We believe that someone used the prototypes to kill her and we believe that person was Denton." Ritchie was overcome with emotion again.

"Do ya think it was suicide?" asked Ray, squinting at Ritchie through the bars, but Ritchie had gone silent again.

Just then Lieutenant Welsh came in waving a piece of paper. "Vecchio, here's your warrant," he said, gruffly. "You'd better be right about this, I've already got the States Attorney's office breathing down my neck."

Welsh headed back up to the squad room, closely followed by Ray and Fraser.

"To be perfectly honest Lieutenant, at the present juncture, we're not entirely sure if we're right or not," said Fraser, matter of factly as he walked behind Welsh. "There are several discrepancies in the information we currently have to hand and our theory is not exactly without it's flaws."

Ray looked at him in disbelief. "Look Lieutenant, somethin's going on at that place, OK?" he said, sneering at Fraser, "just ignore him, he's feelin' a bit Canadian this mornin', right buddy?"

Fraser opened his mouth ready to defend himself and take offence at the way Ray had used 'Canadian' as a form of insult, but instead Welsh spoke again. "I take it you're going to charge Cortez then?"

"Er, no Sir, he's not guilty," replied Ray.

"Then release him," replied Welsh incredulously.

"Sir, I'd rather not," replied Ray looking at Fraser for some back up, "he did confess to murder."

"Then charge him!" Welsh was becoming exasperated.

"Sir, if I may," began Fraser, much to Ray's relief, "at this present juncture, Mr Cortez believes he is in some way responsible for the death of his sister. Unfortunately he feels that by exercising his right to remain silent and not furnishing us with the full information, he is expunging himself of some of that guilt. I would feel happier if he were to remain here until we have brought Denton in for questioning, hopefully then he will be more forthcoming."

"Expunging?" repeated Welsh, slightly confused, as usual, by Fraser's comments.

"Yes Sir," nodded Fraser.

"Alright," agreed Welsh, but he's out of here by midday, whether he's finished expunging or not."

"Thank you kindly, Sir," smiled Fraser as Welsh wandered back towards his office, shaking his head.

"Let's go Fraser," said Ray as he half ran out of the door with Dief bounding off ahead.

XxX

Ray had arranged for a squad car with two uniformed officers to accompany them to Denton Labs. Michael Denton tried to protest at the unwelcome intrusion, but when presented with the warrant he realised he had very little choice. Fraser observed him pacing about his office while they searched through his files and his computer. He glanced at Ray who was also watching Denton. Ray knew what his partner was trying to convey with the look. This man, whilst clearly nervous about something, does not have the air of a man about to be exposed as a murderer.

One of the other officers handed Ray a bundle of paperwork. "Found these hidden in the bookcase," he said.

Fraser joined his partner at Denton's desk as he looked over the files. "This is more of Anna Cortez's father's research," he said. "Why do you have these?"

Denton suddenly got very defensive. "Anna gave them to me," he said.

"You went to her apartment to get them didn't you," said Fraser, "and you were seen there by young Georgia Cooper."

Denton hung his head. "I'm not proud of that," he said quietly, "I didn't want anyone to know I had the research. I was afraid that Anna was keeping things from me, that maybe she'd changed her mind. She was working on developing the drugs that her father had been working on, her research was almost finished."

"We know all that," sneered Ray, "so why did ya kill her?"

"Me?" Denton looked horrified at the notion. "I didn't kill her! I didn't! Why would I do that?"

"Sir, she was killed by a cocktail of drugs that we believe were administered by yourself, possibly in error," Fraser began. "It is possible that you didn't mean to kill her, but regardless of that, your negligence directly lead to her death."

"Then ya faked the robbery to cover your tracks," added Ray.

"No, no that's not true!" I would never get involved with the drugs, I don't understand any of that. Why would I risk Anna's life? I needed her to do this work. This would have made us both rich, not to mention the accolades that would have been bestowed on my company. This was my grandfather's business..." Denton looked genuinely upset now. "I want my lawyer," he added quietly.

"I bet ya do," smirked Ray. He took out his handcuffs. "Michael Denton, you're under arrest..."

"Wait," Fraser said suddenly.

"What?" Ray replied, looking angrily at his partner.

"Think about it for a moment," continued Fraser, "Denton has a point. There would be nothing to gain by killing Anna, in fact there was very much to lose. I think he's telling the truth."

"I found her," admitted Denton suddenly. "I found her at her apartment, slumped on the stairs. I thought she'd taken an overdose, I was putting too much pressure on her to finish the work. I panicked, I thought if the story got into the newspapers then the damage to my business would be irreparable. So I took her purse and her jewellery to make it look like she'd been robbed and killed."

Ray and Fraser were taken aback at this revelation. "Mr Denton," began Fraser, "I simply cannot believe that Anna Cortez took her own life. She left no note and she had a loving family. It makes no sense."

"Then who was it who pumped her full of her own drugs?" asked Ray. "Who would gain out of it?"

Fraser closed his eyes for a minute. "Mr Denton has hit the proverbial nail on the head Ray," he sighed as the realisation dawned on him. "With Miss Cortez dead, the accolades and recognition for her incredible work could be claimed by someone else. Someone who's spent years working here, but with no great success. Then suddenly a young woman with a brilliant mind and a little help from her late father is on the verge of fame and fortune in the world of medical research and that person is overcome with jealousy."

Denton looked at the two men, confused, but Ray slapped his own head with his palm, as if to help it all fit together in his mind. "Jon Cleveland," he said and Fraser nodded. "He would have known that the drugs would kill her and because it was, er, all hush hush, it would look like she, er, she took them herself."

"Exactly Ray," nodded Fraser. "Then he proceeded to slip the same drugs to Davey, the homeless man, in order to throw us off the scent. A cruel and callous attempt at a deflection." He looked at the two other police officers. "Please take this man back to the station," he said and Denton was led away, but before he got out of the door, Fraser called out. "Was Ritchie Cortez involved in the cover up?"

Denton nodded. "He wanted to preserve his sister's reputation and dignity," he said quietly.

"Understood," replied Fraser, with a sigh.

"C'mon buddy, pitter patter," said Ray, bouncing from one foot to the other, "let's get Cleveland."

Fraser nodded and raced after his partner. They found Jon Cleveland in his room, hurriedly filling a bag with files from his desk and some personal items. He stopped and looked at Fraser and Ray as they burst in. He knew at that moment that his fate was probably sealed. He put the bag down as Dief bounded up to him snarling. "Call off your dog," he said in a shaky voice.

"Actually he's half wolf," Fraser spoke quietly, "and I'm afraid he's deaf."

Cleveland hung his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered and Fraser was quite shocked by the remorse in his voice. "She was a lovely person, I don't know why I did it. It was so easy. I've given everything to this place, but for what? For nothing. I've achieved nothing and then she comes along and she's this genius and she has her father's work and..." Cleveland fell to his knees on the floor.

Ray looked briefly at Fraser as he stepped over to the man and placed him under arrest. Fraser couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for Cleveland. The feeling's of worthlessness had led him into a spiral of despair and he'd done something that he would regret for the rest of his life. Suddenly, thoughts of Mort flooded Fraser's head and the parallels were slightly unnerving to the Mountie.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Later that day, back at the station, Rachel and Jamie had come in to take Ritchie home. He and Denton would have to face charges relating to the faked robbery, but Ray had already spoken to Stella about the circumstances and he was hoping that she could arrange something. He didn't care about Denton of course, his motivations had been purely commercial, but Ritchie had just been trying to help his family.

Fraser was a little worried about Cleveland. He'd admitted to everything. He'd given them all the details of how he'd managed to slip the drugs into her food and he'd become emotional at many times during the interview. Fraser had requested that a uniformed officer be posted in the interview room once they'd finished talking to him, as he was concerned about leaving the man alone given his current state of mind.

Ritchie was signing the last of the forms that Francesca had given him in order to facilitate his release. "I should have realised that Anna would never have killed herself," he said sadly to Ray, handing the pen back to Francesca.

"Ya thought ya were doin' the right thing," Ray shrugged as they walked back towards his desk where Rachel was giving Dief some attention and Jamie was talking to Fraser.

Rachel stood up. "Thank you both so much," she said, looking from Fraser to Ray. "I promise you I won't let my idiot brother skip bail," she added with a grin.

Ritchie looked at the floor, embarrassed. "Maybe if I'd been more involved," he said sadly, "maybe I could have seen what Jon was thinking. I stayed out of their way most of the time, I felt like a jerk in that department. I don't understand half of the things they do there."

"Ritchie that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say," Rachel admonished her brother. "No one could have known what was going through his mind." She stopped and looked at Fraser, before adding, "and from what you tell me, I think his mind is very troubled."

Fraser nodded. Then he turned to Ritchie. "You shouldn't put yourself down," he said, "the work you do for us in your department is vital to our investigations. You have helped put many dangerous criminals behind bars. Not many people can say that."

Ritchie looked at Fraser and a brief smile crossed his lips. "Thank you, I appreciate that," he said.

Just then, Mort appeared. Fraser waved him over to Ray's desk. "Mort, I'd like you to meet Anna Cortez's family," he said. "This is my good friend Mort, who's help has been invaluable during this investigation."

Mort shook hands with everyone. "Don't over do it," he said to Fraser with a wink.

Fraser shrugged. "It had to be worth a try," he said, indicating to Mort to step away from the crowd so that he could speak to him. "I meant what I said though."

"Fraser," sighed Mort, "please, I've already told you. What do you think this is?" He held up a sealed envelope with Lieutenant Welsh's name on it.

"Mort, no!" exclaimed Fraser. "I thought you were going to take your time over this decision."

"What's the point?" shrugged Mort. "I can't afford to waste time, not at my age. I can't do this job any more Fraser, it's as simple as that. I don't want to do it any more."

Fraser sighed and looked across at Ray who had been listening in. "If that's your final decision, then of course I respect that," he said. Then he took Mort's hand in a firm handshake. "It's been an honour to work with you," he said.

"Stop it Fraser," replied Mort, his voice cracking slightly.

"I must say, it is a pleasure to see you up here in daylight," Fraser continued with a smile.

Mort laughed. "Well, I haven't burst into flames yet," he said and the two turned to see Rachel, Jamie and Ritchie about to leave.

"I've got to get back to Georgia," said Rachel, shaking Fraser warmly by the hand, "I left her with our neighbour."

"She's a very bright child," smiled Fraser. Rachel smiled and nodded.

Jamie and Ritchie shook everyone's hand and headed for the door. "Hurry up," laughed Jamie, "the car's on a meter."

Rachel turned to Ray and shook his hand too. "Thank you," she said, "for everything."

Ray nodded and Rachel turned to catch up with her husband and her brother in law, but nobody could have predicted what happened next. They heard yelling and shouting as Detectives Huey and Dewey appeared with Jon Cleveland. Cleveland was clearly distressed and Huey and Dewey were struggling to restrain him, even though his hands were handcuffed behind his back. "We're taking him down to the cells," explained Jack Huey as he struggled with the man. "He keeps saying he wants to die."

Fraser and Ray stepped forward to help, but suddenly, fuelled by despair, Cleveland launched his weight at Dewey, knocking him to the floor and the detective managed to hit his head on the corner of Francesca's desk before he hit the ground. Francesca screamed and leapt from her chair to help her now unconscious colleague, and Mort also came to his aid. Fraser was about to grab Cleveland by the shoulder when he lunged again, this time at Jack Huey, letting out a deep throated yell as he did so. It was clear that Cleveland had no idea what he was doing now. Ray tried to move Rachel, Jamie and Ritchie to safety, but before he could get them all out of the way, Huey and Cleveland fell together with all their weight against the filing cabinet that stood to the side of Francesca's desk and sent it crashing down on top of Ritchie.

Rachel screamed and Jamie held her back as she tried to run towards her brother. Fraser and Ray managed to grab hold of Cleveland and handed him over to two of Ray's colleagues who had rushed over to help and they bundled the man out of the squad room, then Fraser, Ray and Jamie took hold of the filing cabinet and were just about able to lift it off Ritchie.

Fraser dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse as Francesca picked up the phone to call for an ambulance. He breathed a small sigh of relief as he felt Ritchie's heartbeat beneath his fingers. He was still breathing too, but Fraser was more worried about the damage that had been caused by the incredibly heavy cabinet. He ripped open the man's shirt and drew a sharp breath as he saw the man's chest and abdomen turning a very unhealthy colour before his eyes. "Mort," he shouted, as he carefully examined the damaged area with his fingers, hoping it wasn't as bad as it looked. Mort left the now conscious Detective Dewey in the capable hands of the slightly stunned Jack and Francesca and crossed to Fraser, his knees complaining slightly as he joined the Mountie kneeling next to the injured man.

Mort also examined Ritchie's injuries and looked extremely concerned. "Help him, please," begged Rachel, and Jamie and Ray had to support her as the situation became almost too much for her to bear.

Fraser looked at Mort, waiting for the older man to say something. When he didn't, Fraser knew he had to take action or Ritchie would be dead before the ambulance arrived. He lifted the man's arm and draped it around his neck, before lifting him up into his arms and getting to his feet. "I'll carry him downstairs," he said as he headed for the door. "I know you haven't got exactly the right equipment, but we can improvise."

"Stay there," instructed Ray to Rachel and Jamie. He had no idea what was going on, but he had a feeling that Rachel would be better off waiting in the squad room. He helped Mort to his feet and they headed out after Fraser. Fraser was still talking to Mort, but the older man was having trouble taking it in. He heard the words 'ruptured spleen' and 'massive internal bleeding', but a terrible feeling had come over him, a feeling of dread, of fear and he felt suddenly light headed.

They got down to the morgue and Fraser carefully laid Ritchie out on the examination table. "Ray, be prepared to perform CPR if necessary," said Fraser urgently as he rushed around opening cupboards and drawers and gathering equipment. Ray was suddenly aware of his own heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't believe that this was happening. He couldn't bear to think how Rachel would take it if she lost her brother too and by the look of him right now, Ray thought that was a distinct possibility. He desperately tried to recall his first aid training.

Fraser finished assembling the instruments and laid them all out on a tray. "Mort, if I bend these around you can use them to..." he began, picking up something that Ray didn't know, or want to know, what it was for, but Fraser stopped talking when he noticed the look on Mort's face. "Mort," he said quietly, but Mort was just staring into space, "Mort, Mort, Mort!"

Mort tuned slowly to face Fraser and spoke in a low, shaky voice. "Fraser, I haven't performed surgery in almost twenty years...I...I can't..." his voice trailed off.

"Mort, this man will die unless you go in and control the bleeding," said Fraser, trying to remain calm. It hadn't occurred to him that Mort would react this way, but of course, considering his recent disposition, Fraser could have kicked himself for not realising that this might happen. Mort just stared at his younger friend, with a terrified look in his eyes. Fraser stared back for a moment, willing Mort to find some inner strength from somewhere, but Mort didn't move. Fraser knew that Mort was probably Ritchie's only chance of survival, so he suddenly looked away, quickly pulled on a pair of gloves and picked up a scalpel and a huge wad of gauze. He took a deep breath and moved towards Ritchie's swollen, distorted body.

"Fraser, you can't," whispered Mort, "you have no idea what you're doing."

"On the contrary Mort," replied Fraser, keeping his voice as even as possible, "I have read several library books on the subject of emergency surgical procedures, one as I remember had particularly detailed diagrams."

"Diagrams!" exclaimed Mort and Ray caught Fraser's eye as he realised what his partner was trying to do. He'd seen Fraser's mind games work so many times before, but this was a life or death situation. _This one had better work buddy,_thought Ray, as panic set in.

Mort blinked twice and took a deep breath before reaching across and snatching the scalpel from Fraser's hand. "We'll have to do this quickly," he said, "you must do exactly what I say."

"Understood," replied Fraser, allowing himself a tiny sigh of relief.

XxX

At the hospital, Rachel sat in the waiting room, her body trembling, just staring at the wall. Jamie sat with his arm around her wishing there was something he could do to make everything right again for his wife. Rachel had been living through a nightmare for the past few days and Jamie didn't want to think about how she'd cope if her brother died now.

Ray was pacing up and down, occasionally stopping to run his fingers through his hair. "More coffee?" he asked. Jamie shook his head and looked at Rachel, but she didn't reply. Ray nodded and turned to Fraser and Mort, who were sitting facing the others. "Tea?" said Ray. Not that he really wanted another drink himself, the vending machine coffee in the hospital was probably worse than back at the station, he thought and he was struggling with the images in his mind from earlier in the morgue.

"No thank you Ray," replied Fraser. He glanced at Mort. His admiration for the man had already been very high before the events of today, but now it was almost immeasurable. He knew Mort had had to battle against his fear and his self doubt to do what he'd done. Fraser just hoped that it had been enough. "Mort," he prompted gently, "can Ray get you anything to drink? Water perhaps?" Fraser wasn't sure if Mort had even heard the question.

Just then, a doctor appeared from around the corner. "Family of Mr Cortez?" he enquired and Rachel leapt to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Is he alright? Please tell me my brother's alright," begged Rachel.

"I'm Dr Starnes, please sit down," replied the doctor and Ray held his breath. "Your brother is a very lucky man," Dr Starnes began and Ray slumped down in a chair next to Fraser as the relief washed over him. "His injuries were severe and he's lost a lot of blood, but I am cautiously optimistic that he will make a full recovery."

Rachel couldn't help the tears that ran down her face. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You should be thanking whoever it was who carried out the emergency procedure," Dr Starnes went on, "he undoubtedly saved your brother's life. Who was it?"

"This man," Fraser spoke with pride as he looked at Mort.

The Dr Starnes stood up and held out his hand for Mort to shake. Mort hesitated for a moment, before going along with the handshake. "Nice work, doctor," said Dr Starnes.

"Oh I'm not a doctor," replied Mort, quietly, unable to make eye contact with the younger doctor, then he added, "not any more. If you'll excuse me..." and without another word, Mort got up and walked away.

Fraser stared after him for a moment, before turning back to Ray. Dr Starnes was leading Rachel and Jamie off to see Ritchie. "Go after him buddy," said Ray, nodding down the corridor towards the doors that Mort had just walked through. "I'll stay here for a while." Fraser nodded and ran to catch up with his older friend.

"Mort," Fraser called out to him, "wait."

"Fraser, I'd like to be left alone," Mort replied without stopping or turning round.

"Mort, what you did today..." Fraser was unusually lost for words.

"Fraser please," Mort half whispered. Fraser stopped following him and stood watching as Mort walked away. He wanted to respect Mort's wishes, but decided that they definitely needed to talk some more later. He thought that Mort probably needed some time to reflect on the events of today and Fraser hoped that it would also give Mort some perspective on his life.

XxX

A few days later, Fraser, Ray and Diefenbaker arrived back at the Consulate after a typically bizarre day. "Ray, you may wish to wash that tomato juice out of your shirt, or it will stain. If you soak it in vinegar that should lift the mark. I must say though, if you'd just let me talk to the woman, she may not have felt it necessary to attack you with her salad."

"Fraser," snapped Ray, "can we just get one thing straight here, OK, she, er, she did not attack me with a salad. That sounds stupid. She attacked me with a knife."

"I beg to differ Ray," Fraser replied, placing his hat on the table and unbuckling his Sam Browne. "If you recall the details of the incident, although she was holding a knife in her hand, it was the salad vegetables that she was using as projectiles. Perhaps if you'd been a little more polite..."

"Polite!" Ray interrupted him, angrily, "Fraser, she was robbin' the restaurant!"

Fraser was just about to argue some more, but then he heard laughter coming from the other room. He looked at Ray, puzzled and followed Dief out of the room to the source of the noise. As he pushed open the door of Inspector Thatcher's office, he was quite surprised to find Turnbull and Mort sat watching an old comedy show on the television. As soon as Turnbull realised that Fraser was there, he jumped up and turned of the TV. "I'm so sorry Sir," he began, hurriedly trying to dust off the seat of the chair he was sitting on.

"Fraser it was my fault," laughed Mort, "Constable Turnbull invited me to join him while I waited for you to return."

"I'll make some tea," said Turnbull, rushing out of the room.

"It's good to see you laughing," noted Fraser.

"Fraser," began Mort, suddenly serious, "I wanted to thank you."

"What on earth for?" queried Fraser.

"For knocking some sense into a silly old fool," replied Mort, "for believing in me."

"Mort, I never doubted you for one moment," said Fraser, seriously. "Does this mean..."

"Yes Fraser," smiled Mort, "I'm not retiring, not just yet anyway, but I have decided to reduce my hours. Before you say anything Fraser, I have a very good reason. Constable Turnbull has put me in touch with a charity that offers free medical care to the homeless and the vulnerable. They are always looking for medical professionals to volunteer a little of their time. Of course I'll need to bring some of my skills and knowledge up to date."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," smiled Fraser.

"It will be a new challenge for me," admitted Mort, rubbing Dief behind the ears, "but I want to do this. I need to feel like I'm contributing something, after all, this country has given me so much, but I've also realised that the work I do for the Chicago Police Department is something I enjoy, as morbid as that may sound."

"You know that doesn't sound morbid to me," smiled Fraser.

"Nor me," Fraser sat bolt upright at the sound of his father's voice, as the ghost of Bob Fraser appeared behind Mort.

Mort spun his head around and then back to Fraser. "Funny," he said, "I thought I heard someone."

Fraser's eyes widened. "Told you," smiled the rather smug ghost.

Mort looked puzzled. "There it was again," he said, looking all around the room.

"It was probably Ray," Fraser said quickly as his father disappeared, much to the Mountie's relief. He thought for a moment. "What did you mean Mort, about this country?"

Mort hung his head. "It's not important," he said quietly. Fraser frowned. Mort was clearly keeping something from him, something about his past and Fraser remembered what his father had told him the other day. Fraser made a mental note to ask Mort about it one day.

Ray came into the room, putting his phone back into his pocket. "That was Frannie, she said they've moved Cleveland to a psych unit for evaluation."

Fraser nodded. "I'm not entirely surprised," he said.

Just then there was an almighty crash from the kitchen, followed by a shaky cry of "I'm OK," from Turnbull, who was clearly anything but OK. Fraser leapt out of his chair and ran to help his younger colleague who had somehow managed to drop an entire tray of teacups.

Ray sat down next to Mort. "Um, Mort," he began quietly, "there's somethin' I think ya should know." Mort was concerned by the seriousness in the detective's voice. "Look, Fraser didn't want me to do this, but I, er, I pulled the O'Driscoll file." Mort took a sharp breath. "There wasn't much to go on, but they did get a partial print at the time."

"Yes, yes, I remember, from her purse I believe," nodded Mort, his mind racing at the prospect of what Ray was about to say.

"I got Frannie to run the print against the, er, y'know, the up to date database and it came up with a match," Ray went on, "a guy called Charvet, he was charged over a kidnapping in '82, but got off on a technicality." Mort sighed, sadly. "No, wait," said Ray, "he tried another kidnapping, er, six months later, a hooker," explained Ray, "only he was under surveillance and when Vice moved in to arrest him, he took off. There was a chase and Charvet crashed his car into a tree. He died at the scene." Mort breathed out slowly. "Mort, you OK?" asked Ray.

As Mort nodded, Fraser came back into the room. "Turnbull's just making some more..." but he stopped talking as soon as he saw Mort's face. "Ray told you, didn't he," he said, glaring at his partner.

"Fraser, you shouldn't have kept this from me," Mort replied, his accent stronger than usual, as often happened when he was annoyed, Fraser observed.

Fraser hung his head. "I'm sorry Mort, but I thought it was best to let sleeping wolves lie. This information proves nothing. Charvet was never investigated with regards to the death of Mary O'Driscoll, nor was there a trial..."

Mort interrupted his young friend. "I know, I realise that there's no proof and of course it's too late now, but at least..." his voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words.

"I understand," replied Fraser, quietly, "if this gives you some peace then of course you have the right to know." Mort nodded in acknowledgement.

Ray's phone rang and he went out into the hall to answer it.

"I'm sorry Mort," Fraser continued.

"Fraser, you have no need to apologise, you were trying to protect me and I appreciate that," smiled Mort. "Now if you're interested, I have two tickets to Lyric Opera's production of The Barber of Seville next week."

"I would be delighted Mort," smiled Fraser, pleased that Mort wasn't really angry with him.

Ray came back into the room. "That was Rachel Cooper on the phone," he said, "They're letting Ritchie home tomorrow."

"Oh that is good news," smiled Fraser.

"Yeah," agreed Ray, "she said to thank you again Mort."

Mort smiled, "I was just doing my job," he replied. Fraser looked at him and nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that reviving his medical career, even if only in some small capacity, was the best thing that Mort could do and Fraser was looking forward to working with him at the twenty seventh for some considerable time to come.

THE END


End file.
